


how to get a boy in a bunny suit (and out of it again)

by uninvitedtrashcan



Category: Bully (Video Games)
Genre: Asphyxiation, Blow Jobs, Bullying, Choking, Halloween Costumes, Humiliation, Jealousy, M/M, Masochism, Sexual Frustration, Slut Shaming, The things Petey does for sex, not wholesome
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-12
Updated: 2018-04-12
Packaged: 2019-04-22 00:02:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,948
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14296323
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/uninvitedtrashcan/pseuds/uninvitedtrashcan
Summary: A not-so-instructional manual by Gary Smith.





	how to get a boy in a bunny suit (and out of it again)

**Author's Note:**

> **additional tw** for terms like 'mental' and 'psycho' being thrown around, and an IC implication that a masochism kink = mental illness.
> 
> Credit to 'Bored Stiff' by Leafling for 'Atta boy' and Gary Smith finding one another.

‘I’ll make it up to you tonight, princess. Promise.’

Gary isn’t the kind to keep promises. Gary dressed up as a _fucking nazi_ is in no way more trustworthy than regular old Gary, and yet for some insane reason, Pete catches himself saying, ‘Fine’. He snatches up the offered pink fabric with a scowl, but his skin’s doing electric things that leave him feeling like more of a skank than Mandy.

‘ _Atta boy_ ,’ Gary leers, in a tone that always makes you feel like trash for going along with him. It says a lot about Pete that this effect only serves to encourage him rather than deter him.  ‘Knew you’d come around.’

Pete knows he’s going to get beat to shit for this, and by people other than Gary for once, but he goes along with it anyway. Red-eared and hot-faced, he strips and struggles into the pastel pink bunny costume. Gary, attired in his officer regalia, watches on from where he’s lounging atop the bed. He’s got this look on his face, one all too familiar; if the rest of the student body weren’t outside gearing up for a Halloween extravaganza, he’d have his cock in his hand and be crooning admonishments. It’s a look that’s always been one of Petey’s favourites. 

To keep things educational, he learns that a boner is real fucking obvious in a rabbit onesie. Of course, Gary won’t help him out— the jerk won’t so much as touch him until tonight, when he may or may not make good on his promise. He’d better, Petey thinks, because the onesie does little to hide the lurid stain of a quick rub-one-out and everybody notices. Thank God they all just rib him for pissing himself. 

If they knew the truth, he’s not sure the bullying would change much for him. They all call him queer and ‘femme boy’ anyway, and his schedule is already chockablock with class, beat-ups, and getting harrassed by Gary. No one else ever dares touch him when Gary’s picking a fight.  

It’s fucked up, but Petey’s happy to take it to protect him. Or maybe he’s protecting _them_ from Gary. But if that’s fucked up, then what the hell is the fact that he gets turned on knowing Gary does this to him, makes him the target of ridicule? He doesn’t have to bother looking to know that the school psycho is watching every time he gets his sorry ass thrown in a trash can, with a gaze that feels like something unclean and hateful, and worst of all, proud. Of course, Petey says nothing, enduring in silence. It leaves him feeling like he’s waiting for a medal, and they come, albeit well past midnight, and often more painful than the punches themselves.

Gary sees everything. Even shit Pete is sure no one could possibly have witnessed, Gary will whisper the details to him hot and vulgar, crude into his ear when he’s pressed up against a wall, undone and all too willing. There’s something especially perverted about having the tale of how you were humiliated recited back to you by the ‘genius’ who orchestrated it. A well placed rumour can elevate Petey from a wedgie to a full blown pummeling, and he doesn’t have to ask who started it. He starts to enjoy it almost, because he knows he’ll hear all the details later whilst Gary’s nails scrape rough against his scalp.

Gary’s speciality is a fucked up fuck, so why the hell has Pete agreed to wear a fucking bunny suit to get one?

The fact that he enjoys it is more mental than the entirety of Gary Smith put together. But they don’t make pills for Petey’s particular ‘problem’, so he spends a stupid night in a stupid costume watching well-meaning (but nonetheless stupid) Jimmy screw people over. Messing with a dog is the last straw - Petey can handle anything thrown at _him_ , but the minute it’s targeted against animals, he’s out, and for whatever reason, Gary never stops him - and so his night ends watching bootlegged horror films with the Nerds. Even they relegate him to the end of the sofa, keeping their distance.

It’s like they can smell Gary on him. 

Petey can’t say he blames them; Gary never has responded well to people getting too close to his stuff. 

One AM and the fire alarm is screeching out in the distance from the main building. It’s shrill enough to wake the one remaining straggler, Cornelius, who realises he’s been curled up in the fetal position alone with ‘weird Pete’ and thus is quick to hightail it to bed. Any other day, Petey would mind the rejection from the social rejects, but tonight the solitude is handy. He stays up, eyelids heavy yet body on alert, watching without seeing as zombies rip extras to shit. 

The waiting pays off; a hand cups the side of his neck right as Jimmy storms past muttering ‘fucking psycho’ under his breath. 

‘You didn’t set the dog on fire, did you?’ Petey asks, nervous and delusional with the late hour, but most of all with the anticipation.

‘What?’ Gary laughs with a sneer so pronounced Petey doesn’t need to turn to know it’s there, fingers still digging into collarbone. ‘And I thought Jimmy was the stupid one. First time I’ve been wrong in my life.’

Petey doesn’t say anything. Nothing against Jimmy, but he doesn’t want to waste time listening to Gary’s usual bitching about the new kid. It’s late, he’s tired, and he still hasn’t taken the fucking rabbit suit off. If there’s to be a reward, he’s earned it. ‘So quiet,’ Gary chuckles. He leans down and takes on his usual pisstake sing-song tone. ‘Were the scary movies too much for ickle femboy?’

The silence of the dorm gives Petey the confidence to tip his head back and kiss the jaw of the face leering in his ear. Gary tastes like smoke, salt, and a kind of desperation that turns Petey on more than anything should. Sometimes it feels like his body’s been programmed with a weakness to this one psycho human being; it would explain a lot. 

Maybe it’s just because of the late hour, but Gary doesn’t insult him or shove him off for such a show of soft affection. Of course, he doesn’t respond in kind either, just stands there statuesque, letting it happen whilst he keeps his eyes fixed on the television screen. Getting Gary to soften is a rarity in itself, and even then can only happen behind closed doors, normally in a post-coital haze where his limbs aren’t dominated by _all that thinking_ he claims he’s doing twenty-four seven.

Pete’s contemplation is cut short by a cap being slapped onto his face. ‘I’m done with today; I think we successfully showed these losers who should run this place. And I’m not talking about the dancing monkey over there.’ He removes the cap in time to see Gary jerking his head in the direction of Jimmy’s room.

Now Petey knows he should reply with a scolding, but then Gary will get pissy and it’ll turn into a real fight as opposed to whatever it is they do when no one’s looking. So, he keeps his trap shut and just plays with the dangling ear of his costume. The tactic works, for out of the corner of his eye he can see Gary smirking. ‘Did you like your pretty little outfit, femboy?’

‘You’re such a jerk, Gary.’

Even Petey’s taken by surprise by the teeth suddenly at his neck, grazing over quick-tensed muscle, shifting aside fabric, biting. They might be alone, but they’re still close to others’ rooms, so he swallows back on his answering whimper. Problem is, Gary never knows how to play gentle, people close or not. His incisors cut against Petey’s pulse; a short, sharp gasp escapes him.

The pair freeze as a door opens. Without needing to speak, they fall into the routine of fake-watching tv, Gary prodding and poking, Petey batting him away. The two jocks who enter the dorm, sneaking back from some secret cool kids party no doubt, pay them no mind save for the usual jeer of ‘losers’ as they pass. Gary being Gary, he doesn’t even wait until they’re out of earshot before spitting in their direction. They ignore him, which Petey knows only pisses him off more.

‘I’m going to bed,’ he says, not wanting to lose out on his promised payment because of some neanderthal idiots. As nonchalantly as possible, he heads off without looking back. ‘Night, Gary.’  

He only has to sit five minutes on his bed waiting before the door opens. ‘Think I’d let you go that easy, huh?’ The pretence about what Gary’s there for drops the second he shuts the door. ‘Get that thing off. It looks ridiculous.’

‘You got it for me.’

‘Well then, don’t say I never do anything nice for you.’

He props himself up against the wall, reclining back at an angle to watch as his ‘pet rabbit’ complies. Shirking off the jizz-stained costume, Petey stands awkwardly, even after all this time, one arm clutching the other before him, toes fidgeting up and down the back of his calf. Standing in nothing but his briefs, rickety limbs and weedy chest exposed, has never been an act to inspire confidence in him, but doing so before Gary when he’s all decked out in uniform proves to be especially daunting. His stomach lifts in a sick kind of fear that he’s a little too fond of.

‘God, maybe you _should_ have kept in on. Puberty still ignoring you, Petey?’ Gary teases. Sure, Petey could point out just whom it is that seems so fond of touching his scrawny body, but-

Turns out it doesn’t matter that he resists the temptation to speak; the thought must show on his face because all of a sudden Gary’s furious and moving, kicking him back with a steel-capped boot onto the bed. Towering over, he bends the riding crop between his hands. ‘Getting cocky, are we? I can still leave, you know.’ In spite of himself, Petey can’t stop himself from pleading,

‘Don’t.’

‘Don’t,’ Gary mimics in a whiny voice. ‘Don’t go Gary, please! Jesus, could you be more pathetic?’

Rather than protest, Petey reaches up and grapples onto the lapels of the other’s slick, black jacket, pulling himself flush up against Gary’s leather-clad chest. Mock-lovingly, Gary answers with a tender brush of fingers across scalp, before that hand comes round to choke him at the throat. Sinking back, he brings them down against the bed, mouth half snarl, half sneer. He snickers as his knee presses to find Petey’s half hard already, hips jutting up in yearning response. 

‘You’re so desperate,’ Gary remarks, as if this is somehow news to him, like he’s forgetting that Petey wore a fucking bunny costume just for the chance of a quick fuck. ‘If only Jimmy could see you now. Wouldn’t think you’re so good and moral then, would he?’

Because Petey’s needy and fed up of Jimmy talk in the bedroom, he has no - well, few - qualms about snipping back, ‘Wouldn’t change his opinion about you much though.’ It’s worth it as his neck is crushed to hell, a knee shoving against his crotch in a way that makes him yell. They’ve done this enough times before for Gary to bring a hand against his mouth with it, muffling the noise to a pitiful mewl.

‘You think you’re being clever? Don’t think you can win that one against me, Petey boy. If they weren’t making me take meds, I’d have this whole place eating out of the palm of my hand already.’ He pauses to lavish in smirking, right as Petey thinks he might pass out as the room starts spinning. ‘Of course, you already do that. How does it feel to be ruled by someone.’ He seems to expect a genuine reply despite the fact that Petey can’t breathe let alone speak. He kneels and waits, head tilting. ‘Well? Any last thoughts?’ 

If Petey died at Gary’s hands, maybe that would be ‘too much’. Until then though, he has yet to find where his limits are. Even as he suffocates, his hips itch up against the other’s body, kneading against his thighs to try and get some relief. 

The release of his throat is enough to have him dripping with precum, adrenaline making his limbs shake as he collapses back against the bed. ‘Ah ah ah, no slacking on the job,’ Gary taunts, dragging him back up by the nape of his neck to bring his head level with his crotch. ‘Open it,’ he says, smiling all pretty like. ‘Not with your hands. Use your teeth.’

Despite all their desperate fucks in bathroom stalls and empty classrooms, Petey’s still not confident at this, so something so luridly pornographic has him flushing, hesitant. Always the diligent student though, he tries his best, trying to use his nose to push aside fabric, teeth reaching blindly for metal. Above him, Gary snorts. ‘Anytime now, femboy.’

Catching the zip, Pete tugs it down and like a puppy nuzzles against crotch and underwear, edging down the waistline until Gary is more out than in, erection pressing up against the dark line of his abdomen. ‘Atta boy,’ he murmurs, the phrase for once not sounding as spiteful as it should do; arousal leaves them both acting against their brains’ wishes. He’s trembling where he stands, just enough that it's noticable.

Don’t get him wrong, Petey loves when Gary lets nothing ruffle him, but it’s the little details like these that have the back of his throat aching to blow him. He’s been called ‘cock-hungry’ by plenty of the student population, and always thought it an ugly expression, but in front of Gary, when they’re like this, he feels it. It hurts how much he wants to be broken into by this person.

With a nudge that neither of them want to admit is gentle, Gary brings him closer and eases him onto him. He keeps a steadying, almost protective hand atop Petey’s head the whole time, a tight, frustrated grunting noise grumbling in the back of his throat as Petey slides his lips down over head and shaft, going slow— for them.

But this is them; the tender moment can only last so long. Soon fingertips curl to rough nail-edges, bitten and sharp, digging into flesh and soon backed by muscle to shove, forcing Petey to take Gary in further, gagging around him. Deep throating always leaves his insides burning afterwards - he loves it - and each time he thinks he might actually be sick - he loves it - but among the instinctual panic he trains himself to respond, tongue experimenting with lips, head bobbing with awkward uncertainty. He should probably know how to do this by now, but all he really knows is that Gary seems to relish in how incompetent he is.

‘God, you’re so shit at this. I’d be better off fucking a wall, or god forbid, Jimmy. A monkey could do better than you.’ There’s that name again. It’s with an unexpected - and completely delicious - sense of possessiveness that Petey forces himself to take him deeper, to use his tongue just so in that way that has even Gary Smith, school sociopath, gasping like a maiden. ‘You little shit,’ he hisses, voice warm, appreciative. He;s all condescending admiration as he strokes Petey’s scarlet cheeks and says, ‘Maybe I have taught you something.’

Still sore from how much James Hopkins seems to be present in the bedroom, despite being asleep one floor down, Pete refuses to get complacent. As if to prove why Gary’s here, not downstairs getting sucked off by someone else, Petey learns awful quick just how to get Gary’s breathing heavy, how to turn his grip from violent to _wanting._

Maybe Petey really is a natural slut after all.

Gary comes with taut muscles, scathing hisses, scratches up the back of Petey’s head that draw blood. He chokes, not such a hardened slut after all, but through the burn and watering eyes he swallows. The consequences of not doing so aren’t worth it, not unless he’s really craving degradation. Right now what he really wants is a cock up his ass and Gary telling him he’s pretty, or at least, that how he likes to interpret the line ‘god you’re so fucking tight for a filthy little femboy’.   

But as his eyes dry, he hears a zipper going and blinks his vision clear to find Gary tucking himself back in. ‘Better, though you still need practice, young grasshopper.’ His voice is back to the springing joviality that leaves Petey’s stomach sinking. This isn’t the kind of mocking that leads to a good fuck.

‘But-’ He starts to protest.

‘We wouldn’t want to stay up too late on a school night, now would we, Petey? That would be most unbecoming of model students such as ourselves.’ 

Foolish optimism has him thinking that this has to be a joke until Gary’s at the door and licking blood off of his fingertips. Pete wonders if he’s going mad until he sees the shit-eating grin Gary’s failing to hide and realises he’s been had (only he _hasn’t_ , and that’s the problem). ‘Good night, little femboy. And get that costume dry-cleaned would you? It’s a rental.’  

He leaves, and Petey learns a lesson: Gary Smith never keeps his promises.

The worst part is he knows that it doesn’t matter; he’ll agree to him every time, no matter the consequences. 

So in a sense, he really is fucked.


End file.
